


like steps of passing ghosts

by noyabeans (snowdrops)



Series: writing with snowdrops (sportsfest 2018) [4]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, M/M, Seasonal Spirits and Guardians
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-10 18:00:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15296982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowdrops/pseuds/noyabeans
Summary: Wait for me, the wind says, and disappears.





	like steps of passing ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> fill for **sportsfest bonus round 2: quotes**.  
>  original prompt is [here](https://sportsfest.dreamwidth.org/8539.html?thread=1071451#cmt1071451).
> 
> quote:  
> "Miss someone until they come back, or until you come back, until their absence in your life becomes something to be avoided at all costs. Miss them until you don’t have to anymore, until you’re reunited in your favorite booth in your favorite restaurant ordering your favorite meal, miss them until it feels like you never left. Or miss them until you can’t anymore, until the things you miss are identified and cataloged as things and not a person, until you figure out that easy company and long talks and unblinking, all-knowing eye contact will find you again the way they found you the first time. Miss someone until you don’t."  
> —How To Miss Someone (Stephanie Georgopulus)

_Akaashi_ , whispers the wind that rustles through the maple leaves by the eaves of the shrine. _Akaashi, Akaashi_.

Keji does not turn. He is sewing the waves of summer heat into the fabric of his robes, the golden thread in his pine needle running far too long.

“You’re late,” Keiji says. The leaf that falls from the maple tree above him is only starting to fade. It will be another week at least.

_Wait for me_ , the wind says, and disappears. Keiji breathes out, pulls the thread of sunshine into another stitch.

 

He comes six days and thirteen hours later to the gate of the shrine. Keiji does not need to look up to know his robes are crimson, almost too bright to look at.

“You’re here,” Keiji says as he dips his brush into the autumn foliage and touches it to the faded red of the shrine pillar.

“I’m here,” echoes the boy of autumn. He looks different: taller than Keiji remembers, and he has grown out his hair. It has been a year. Surely Keiji too must look different to his eyes.

The boy sits down next to Keiji. He brushes his fingers against the pillar Keiji has just painted; his fingertips come away stained red.

“I just painted that,” Keiji says mildly. There are distinct fingerprints against the solid red of the pillar now.

“I know,” says the boy. He grins, contented. Keiji has not seen this smile in a long time. He had not realised that he had missed it.

He continues painting, opting not to cover the fingerprints. The boy stays silent next to him, watching.

Some time later when Keiji turns around, he notices.

“Your hand is on my robe.”

The boy startles then, pulling his hand away from where it'd fallen on Keiji’s too-long robe. Keiji glances down at the damage - red marks scattered among the golden stitches from last week and the embroidered flowers from this year's spring.

“I'm sorry,” the boy says. He's wringing his hands, leaving red traces along his wrists.

“Don't worry about it,” Keiji says, and he means it. It doesn't look too bad, for a design so spontaneously imprinted. He thinks he might leave it.

Dusk falls, and it is too dark to continue painting. Keiji stands up and makes his way indoors without a word, the boy next to him.

He blows a lamp alight and brings out the mochi he'd saved from the shrine visitors earlier today, and makes a pot of tea. As he settles down before the low table with the food, he watches the light dance in the boy's hair.

“Tell me about your year, Akaashi,” says the boy.

So Keiji does.

 

The wind is chilly when the boy is ready to leave. It's too soon, Keiji thinks, but he's managed to repaint all the faded pillars.

“I'll see you next year,” says the boy of autumn.

“Don't be late again,” Keiji says.

“I'll try,” the boy says, and reaches out a hand to Keiji. Keiji takes it, feels the rough press of the last autumn leaf against his palm.

His hand is red when the boy turns to go.

**Author's Note:**

> did I write this by playing on Konoha's name, you bet I did (Konoha Akinori 木葉秋紀 has several associations with autumn and autumn leaves.) 
> 
> appears to be slightly parallel to [midwinter](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11437881), which I wrote during SASO last year.
> 
> title from Adelaide Crapsey's November Night.
> 
> ※ I struggle with replying to comments, but I deeply appreciate each one that I receive. it's very motivating and rewarding to hear that you've enjoyed it, or that it made you have some kind of emotional reaction. consider this as an advance thank you if you're leaving a comment, and feel free to drop by my social media and talk to me if you enjoyed reading this!
> 
> [tumblr (rielity)](https://rielity.tumblr.com/) | [twitter (noyabeans)](https://twitter.com/noyabeans) | [haikyuu writing journal](https://noyabeans.dreamwidth.org/)


End file.
